


Becoming Winter

by Lasairiona



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Gen, Rape, Sexual Assault, Slavery, Violence Toward Children, rape of minor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasairiona/pseuds/Lasairiona
Summary: A slave girl makes an unlikely friend after being sold, and after twelve years, she's no longer nameless.
Relationships: Female Sith Inquisitor/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how much electricity is put out by the shock collars, so I went with the voltage of a standard police taser. I also took some creative license that it would lock up the muscles like a taser does.

The nightmare jerked her awake. Again. She turned her face into her lumpy pillow, using it to hide the tears on her cheeks. This was the fourth time this week that the same dream invaded her thoughts, pulling her from the only respite she got in her days. And it was always the same.

A child, hardly more than an infant, wailing as she’s taken from her dead mother’s embrace. A Taskmaster looking on, blood dripping from the multi-stranded whip in his hand. A man, passing a credit stick in exchange for the child.

She knew the memories were hers, though how she can't explain. She was far too young to remember that day, but she knew that she's the child she saw. The child's bright red hair and unnatural white eyes matched her own, and there's no way it was a coincidence.

That wasn't the first day she was sold. Nor would it be the last. Whispers between the other slaves filled the camp of another auction, the tension in the slaves' quarters thicker than a Hutt. Since that rumour surfaced, everyone feared they or their friends would be the next being sold.

She rolled to her back, folding her arms under her head so the shock collar wouldn’t dig in as much. It didn't matter, she told herself, her tears burning a hot line from the corners of her eyes to her ears. She didn't have family.

She didn't even have a name.

***

The slavers lined them up, shoulder to shoulder, quick to trigger the shock collars on any slaves that didn’t move fast enough. Or any that looked anywhere but down—a lesson the boy to her left seemed not to have learned yet.

“Don’t look at me, _slave_ ,” the slaver snarled, holding down the switch controlling the collar. The boy cried out in pain as the electricity surged through his body, seizing his muscles.

She kept her eyes lowered, hoping she can make it through the day's exchange without sharing in the boy's fate. She'd felt the bite of the shock collar many times in the past, and it's not a thing she's eager to relive.

She focused her eyes on the ground, watching the shoes of the potential buyers as they walked down the line to inspect the slaves. They stopped occasionally, asking the slavers questions about any of the people they’re interested in buying. Their voices blended together, the exhaustion from a week of nightmares dulling the girl’s attention.

The feeling of 50,000 volts of electricity surging through her snapped her back to awareness. She gritted her teeth as she collapsed from the shock rendering her muscles useless.

“Pay attention, slave!”

She scrambled back to her feet once she’s again in control of her muscles. “I-I'm sorry, sir.” She heard the _click_ of the collar's remote just before the pain of the electric burst ripped through her body again.

“Did I say you could talk, slave?”

Pulling in a ragged breath, she again stood, this time remaining silent. A hand gripped her chin, raising her face for inspection. She waited as they poked and prodded, looking at her hands and teeth as if she were a prized nerf.

“How old is this one?” the man gripping her jaw asked.

“Slave number forty-two...” The slaver consulted his data pad, scrolling through the information on each. “...is twelve.”

“A bit scrawny. What’s wrong with the eyes?”

“Nothin',” the man grunted in distaste. “Just a freak.”

“What’s the asking price?”

“Ten thousand.”

She let her mind retreat as the men started haggling over how much she’s worth. She focused on the sounds of the speeders going by, ships breaking atmo and docking at the spaceport, the merchants peddling their goods to tourists to commemorate their visit to the capital city. Anything but the fact that she was just another commodity.

A sharp jab to her shoulder brought her back to herself. The man must have bought her. “Come along,” he ordered, an impatient edge to his voice.

Ducking her head, she followed behind him through Kaas City, surreptitiously watching the bustle of the city around her. She saw a father purchase a gundark toy for his child, a woman inspect blaster pistols at an arms vendor, a trooper having his armor repaired. What was it like, being able to do that? Go where you want and—

Her shock collar caught her unaware, and she could feel the embarrassed weight of people’s eyes on her as she tumbled to the pavement. “Keep up,” her new master growled, his thumb hovering over the switch. “I don’t have time for your daydreams.”

Wordlessly, she pushed herself up and hurried after him, this time keeping her eyes trained on his feet. When he stopped, she saw that they stood in the heart of Kaas City, on the landing platform that was the major transportation hub for the city. The citadel towered over her across the expanse, huge banners with the symbol of the Sith Empire hanging on it. She watched it fade from view as their hired taxi took them out of the city and to the Dromund Kaas spaceport.

Still behind the man, she wasn't sure if she felt more scared or nervous or excited at the prospect of heading off of Dromund Kaas. As they reached the hangar, she decided that fear won that race of emotions. At least in the hell her world was she knew what to expect.

A green-skinned woman met them at the ship's airlock. “This the last one?”

The man grunted an affirmative. “Put her with the others who need their brand.” He passed the remote to the collar to the woman. “Everyone else already on board?”

“Jos is waiting for you on the bridge.”

The girl followed the woman to what looked like a cargo bay, except that it was retro fitted with a force field in the doorway. With a press of a few buttons, the field came down and she pushed the girl into the room.

As the shield raised behind her, the girl took a quick survey of the room even while keeping her head lowered. Half a dozen other people sat in the room, which had a few cots and bedrolls around. She moved to an unoccupied cot and perched on the edge, folding in on herself so as to take up the least amount of space possible.

The room remained silent until the green woman from the crew moved away from the door, clearly unconcerned with the slaves. Gradually whispered conversations picked up, though the girl couldn’t imagine what they had to talk about. A boy that appeared to be a year or two older than her interrupted her thoughts. 

“First time off world?”

She glanced at him and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “That I know of.”

“Whoa, what's wrong with your eyes?” he blurted, the rest of the room growing quiet at his question.

She felt her face heat and looked down, glad that her hair fell forward over her face. A woman chided the boy. “That's not polite, Cam!”

To his credit, he looked sheepish at the woman's rebuke. “Sorry, I just never seen eyes like that before. They always like that?”

The girl nodded. “Since before I can remember.”

“Cool. I'm Cam. What's your name?”

He meant it as an innocent question, she knew, but it still brought the prick of impending tears to her eyes. “I...um...I don't have one.”

The boy again sat in a stunned silence, his awkwardness interrupted by the sound of the ship's engine starting. The girl clutched the edge of the cot as the ship took off, not liking the sensation of her stomach dropping as the vessel gained speed and altitude. Cam moved to sit beside her and pat her hand. “It's okay. You get used to it.”

She licked her lips, her mouth feeling dry. “How many times have you done this?”

“I was on a private cruise liner before this, cleaning up after nobles, so...a lot.” He shrugged. “Once we jump into hyperspace it's a smooth ride.”

It was ten minutes before her stomach lurched with the sudden g-force of the hyperdrive activating, but, as he predicted, it was only momentary. She let out the breath she was holding and slumped in relief. “I never want to do that again.”

Before Cam could reply, the force field dropped and the green woman entered the room. At the sight Cam’s hand covering the girl’s, she smirked. “You, freaky-eyes, come on,” she ordered.

The girl followed her into another room—a medical bay?—and sat on the reclining chair as instructed. A needle jammed into her arm, and she let out a hiss of pain. “You'll be taking a little nap now. It's easier to mark you that way.”

The world around her grew fuzzy. Her vision blurred but didn't go black. A buzzing in her ears drowned out the conversation between the green woman and a different man that entered the room. She tried to form words, but her tongue was thick and unresponsive.

The man leaned over her, pushing her left eyelid closed as he said something to the woman, who then handed him a device. It was small, not much bigger than a slicing spike, and when he touched it to her skin above her eyebrow she wished she could scream in pain. It was hot as fire, and she could smell her own flesh burning under the heated tool. He slowly dragged it down, and when he reached the tender skin of her eyelid, the pain pushed her body into the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness she longed for.

When the girl woke, all she felt was the burning pain down her eyelid and across the top of her cheek. A fleeting moment of panic made her heart jump, until she realized she couldn't see from her left eye because of a bandage covering it. Her right eye darted around the room. She was back in the cargo bay, lying on one of the cots.

Cam looked at her when she sat up, and she could see that he sported a similar bandage. He snagged her wrist to stop her from touching her bandage. “Take it easy, Winter. Best to leave it alone and let the kolto do its job so it won't be so raw.”

“Winter?”

He smiled and shrugged. “Your eyes... they remind me of a snowy winter day back on Alderaan. And I figure it's better than ‘hey you’ or whatever. But you have the freedom to pick any name you want.”

She mulled it over in her mind, trying it out before finally nodding. “Winter. I like it.” A smile crossed her face. After twelve years, she finally had a name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: rape/sexual assault of a minor
> 
> A traumatic experience awakens Winter’s Force sensitivity.

_Three years._ Winter sighed with the weariness that comes from long days with little rest. _Three years, two months, and seventeen days._ Her finger traced the scar on the left side of her face. The line from halfway up her forehead cut straight down, just left of the corner of her eye, down her eyelid. It stopped at the apple of her cheek, breaking into small squares and rectangles for an inch and a half to the side. She hated the scarring, but who wouldn't hate a visible reminder that their life was not their own?

“Yo, Winter, you there?” Cam's voice came from outside the slaves' refresher, where she still hid since finding her clothes gone when she stepped out from her shower, replaced instead with the dancer’s costume she'd hoped to avoid. Ever since she started to mature, she'd bound her chest with strips of cloth in an attempt to hide her budding womanhood. It clearly hasn't worked.

She left her hair down, hoping to use it as a shield for her embarrassment. She felt less exposed in her undergarments. _Because you were._

“Where is she, boy?” The voice of the cantina’s taskmaster chilled her blood.

“H-here,” she croaked, her voice hoarse with fear as she edged out of the refresher. She kept her eyes cast down and her arms crossed over her chest. She could feel the sympathy rolling off Cam, along with his feelings of powerlessness.

The taskmaster grabbed a handful of her hair, clenching his fist as he tipped her head back and forced her gaze up. “No room for your shyness here, freak. Now get out there before I whip you until no one would pay for you to look at them let alone anything else.”

Winter swallowed and tried to nod. “Yes, sir,” she whispered. She stumbled when he released her with a shove. Cam reached out to steady her, but she flinched and shrunk away.

The distinctive sound of a fist striking a body reached her ears, followed by Cam groaning. “Hands off the boss's merchandise, boy.”

Even in the morning hours, the cantina had a number of patrons. When the entire world was a city, there's never a quiet time—especially when the world was nothing but criminals and gangsters. The gamblers were already at the pazaak tables, bartering for trades and smuggling over the cards. The perpetual womanizers and drunks were at the bar and dance tables, getting their drinks and trying to get the dancers' attention.

Winter shuddered. The idea of men like them staring at her, paying to...spend time with her... Her stomach rolled and it's all she can do to bite back the retch. A portly woman, who under other circumstances would appear matronly, briskly approached as soon as the girl entered the room.

“Come on, girl, no time to be timid.” The woman wrapped her hand around Winter’s upper arm and pulled her along behind her. “This must be your first day in costume. Today, just watch the other girls. Bring orders from the bar like you did before. Tomorrow, you'll be up there.” The woman pointed to where a Twi’lek danced on a corner table.

Winter swallowed and nodded wordlessly. The woman nodded back. “Good. Get to work.”

Whatever Winter imagined this day would be like, it was worse. The men leered at her, groped her as she tried to hurry past between the bar and tables. Her nerves remained in a heightened state of awareness all day, exhausting her in a way she hadn’t experienced before.

As the night wore on, a more diverse crowd filtered into the cantina. Military from both the Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic occupied tables, each keeping a wary eye on the other. A robed figure passed the Imperial troopers, pausing to say something. Something hanging from their belt caught her eye. _Is that...a lightsaber?_

She heard descriptions of the weapons before, but the only time she recalled seeing one was in the nightmares she had, some of which she still wasn't sure if they were rooted in her past or not. It took all her willpower to pull her gaze away from the being that radiated power. If they were, in fact, a Sith, they wouldn't take being stared at by a slave girl kindly. Although, she heard, they didn't take _anything_ kindly.

By the end of the night, Winter was ready to drop. She felt drained, exhausted, worn out in a way she'd never been. She didn't know how the other dancers had done this for so long. The woman who first dragged her in nodded to her. “Go to bed, girl. Be ready for tomorrow.”

Without a word, Winter turned toward the slaves' exit at the back of the room, behind the bar and kitchens. She was just past the hall leading to the refreshers when a man stepped into her path. The smell of body odor and Soulean brandy assaulted her nose as she tried to side step around him.

He matched her movement, keeping himself in her path. “Now don't rush off, sugar. We never had a chance to spend time together.”

She didn't need to look up to know that this was a man she brought a number of drinks to. Always brandy, and always with a clumsy grope or attempted kiss. She side stepped again. “Excuse me.” Her words were hardly more than a whisper and drowned out by the rowdy night crowd filling the cantina.

He continued to block her. “You been teasin' me all night. Time to follow through.” His hand shot out and grabbed her hair, much faster than she expected a man his size to be able to move, then pulled her to him as he planted a sloppy kiss on her mouth. When she tried to push him away, his other hand circled her wrists.

He tugged her into the hallway, pressing her body against the wall. “Get off me!” Winter kicked at his shins, strained to break free from his grasp.

He released her hair, wrapping that hand around her neck and grinding his hips against her. “You've been asking for this all day. Don't pretend like you don't want it now.”

She felt his hand tighten until her vision began to dim. Her lungs burned and tears streamed down her face as she gasped for air when he loosened his grip. He tightened his fingers again, taking her to the edge of unconsciousness before allowing her air.

He repeated that cycle over and over, his other hand releasing her wrists so he could touch her. His hand painfully gripped her breast before moving down to pull at the scrap of cloth covering her groin. Her fear heightened, fought through the fog her mind was in from oxygen deprivation when the skin of his manhood touched her inner thigh.

_No!_

She cried, clawed, struggled to get away from him, from the pain as he forced himself inside her. “I always like a girl with a little fight,” he grunted.

“No,” she cried. Her terror broke a dam within her. With a strength she was unaware she possessed, she pushed him from her. “No!”

He flew out of the hallway, crashing down onto a table with enough force that the legs shattered beneath him. Purple lightning danced across his body, crackling in the abrupt silence that filled the room.

“What the hell?” One of the Imperial troopers spoke first.

The robed figure stood and approached the man. “He's dead.”

Winter looked down at her trembling hands, Force lightning still sparking around them and up her arms. She felt the curious look from the Sith. “I didn't mean to,” she gasped as the Force-user walked to her.

“Oh, I think you did. On a base, instinctual level.”

The lightning edged past her shoulders and encircled her until her entire body radiated with power. “I didn't...” A burst of Force energy erupted from her just before she collapsed to the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cam's struggle to reach Winter, and the fallout after she was assaulted.

When Cam saw the man pull Winter into the hallway, he felt like he'd been punched. Ever since they met after she was bought on Dromund Kaas, he felt it was his responsibility to look out for her, even though he was only a couple years older than she was. The sight of the drunk with his hands grasping at her made him feel like he failed.

He moved toward the hall, as quick as he dared without giving the impression that he was trying to escape. The last thing he needed was an activation of his shock collar. He nearly reached the other side of the room when the head of security snagged his arm in a grip that he was sure was going to bruise. “Get back to your post, boy.”

Cam straightened, a defiant set to his jaw as he stared down the older man. “Didn't you see that? Winter needs help.”

The enforcer sneered at him knowingly. “You're in no place to get soft on one of the dance girls. Anything that happens to her isn't your concern. She's not yours.”

An unbidden growl escaped from Cam. “She's a person, you heartless bastard.” His teeth snapped together as his shock collar activated.

The man in charge of keeping the slaves in line crouched over Cam, making a show of holding the switch down to prolong his pain. “She _belongs_ to the boss, is entrusted to _me_ , and is of no concern to _you_. See how that works?” He finally released the switch, leaving Cam gasping for breath as he regained control of his body. “Now, lover-boy, get your ass back to your station, or I'll talk to the boss about selling you and you'll _never_ see your little freaky-eyed whore again.”

The insult overruled the threat as Cam's fury drowned out his pragmatism. He lunged at the overseer, who just laughed and depressed the shock collar control again. “Talk to the boss it is.”

Cam heard her then, Winter’s desperate cry just before the man launched through the air and landed on a table. Wood splintering was suddenly the only sound, and the overseer shifted his focus away from the slave at his feet.

“What the hell?”

“He's dead.”

Two different voices. Cam got up and tried to edge closer. The scene was enough to make him feel ill. The man who pulled Winter into the hallway had a scream frozen on his face, Force lightning burns on his clothes, and his exposed genitals confirmed Cam's worst fears about what his intent had been. Guilt gripped the young man. Guilt that he wasn't there for her, that he couldn't stop this now dead man from hurting her, that he couldn't comfort her now that it was over. 

Winter’s voice faltered. “I...I didn't mean to.”

“Oh, I think you did. On a base, instinctual level.”

Cam looked at the man who spoke. _Sith,_ his mind screamed, taking in the robes and lightsaber. He remained transfixed on the situation unfolding, just as everyone else. A stunned silence permeated every corner of the cantina, lending an eerie feeling to the air.

“I didn't...” In the darkness of the hallway, Winter was lit by the purple lightning that skittered up her arms and around her body. Even her white eyes glowed from the untapped power that coursed through her, until it exploded out in a wave. She crumpled to the floor, the sparks sizzling out.

The Sith crouched down and lifted her in his arms, much more gently than Cam expected, and looked around the room. “Who owns her?”

The overseer stepped forward. “Her owner isn't here, but I am in charge of the slaves at this establishment, my lord.”

Cam studied the man holding the unconscious Winter. He was tall—over two meters—and had an air of strength about him, though how much of that was from the Force or his physique Cam couldn't say. A hint of dark side corruption paled his skin with an unnatural pallor.

“Good. Pass these credits on to your master and remove her slave collar. She's coming with me.” The dark lord nodded his chin to one of the Imperial troopers behind him, who then extended a credit stick to the overseer.

“What? You can't just come in here and walk away with one of th—” He reached for his throat as it constricted, but the Force didn't have anything for him to grab hold of to ease the pressure that closed his airway.

“I represent the Empire, and in such the Emperor himself. You will not be keeping a girl so gifted in the Force to flirt and bring drinks. She is coming with me.” The Sith released the man from the Force choke. “You're lucky to get any compensation at all.”

Still with a hand on his throat, the overseer nodded. “Y-yes, my lord,” he wheezed. With a wave of his hand, he beckoned one of his subordinates over to remove the slave collar from the unconscious girl.

Cam’s amusement from the humiliation the overseer suffered at the hands of the Sith was short-lived, and his unthinking smirk faded as the Sith proceeded out of the cantina as soon as his demand was met. “What? No! Winter!” He jumped to his feet to give chase, but didn't get more than two steps before an enforcer stopped his progress by snaking an arm around his neck in a choke hold.

“It seems my problem solved itself. So unless you want to be sold to a moisture farmer on Tatooine, you better learn your place, _slave_.”

A solid jab to Cam's midsection punctuated the statement. As he gasped for breath, Winter disappeared from his sight and a heavy despondence he'd not experienced before settled around his shoulders like a shroud.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter learns what's to happen with her after she killed her attacker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a shorter chapter, I know, but it was a natural stopping point.

The heavy thud of her pulse greeted Winter when she awoke, a splitting headache amplifying the blood moving through her veins. She grimaced and tried to lift a hand toward her head, but a cold pressure on her wrist stopped her. A metallic _clank_ accompanied the motion, and she cracked her eyes open enough to see heavy shackles binding her, the chain going from her wrists to a large durasteel ring bolted to the floor. Her head swam from her slight movement, and she squeezed her eyes shut and groaned as the world spun around her. She couldn't say if it was a minute or five before she felt the room come to a halt, and she opened an eye again. This time, everything remained stationary.

Winter looked around the room as much as she could without moving. It was barren, save for a storage locker and a few crates, and it reminded her vaguely of the cargo bay of the ship that took her from Dromund Kaas. She wasn't sure if it was newer or just in better upkeep, but it looked to be in better condition to her untrained eye. A faint red barrier filled the doorway and when she focused she could hear the soft hum of the forcefield.

_A ship? That can't be right._

Once she was sure the room wouldn't go sideways on her again, she pushed herself up to a sitting position. She sat on the floor of the cargo bay, a blanket the only thing between her and the cold metal floor. A shiver ran down her spine, and her mind slowly acknowledged that she was still wearing nothing but the scant dancer’s costume her master's guards ordered her into.

The costume she'd worn while waiting tables in the cantina. Before the man...

Before he...

She swallowed, unable to finish the thought even as the memory and fear washed over her and chilled her blood. With only a minor amount of trouble, Winter shifted her weight to pull the blanket out from under herself and wrapped it around her shoulders, her chains restricting her movements. She gripped the blanket as tightly as she could, her knuckles as white as her face. Even a she tried to block the memory out she felt his hands on her body, felt the way he’d groped her hips and breasts.

Anger, fear, and resentment surged inside her, each feeling warring with the others for dominance. Her anger won, and with her building fury purple sparks glowed along her fingers. Winter dropped her grip on the blanket to hold her hand up before her and marvelled at the webs of lightning just under her skin.

“It's real.” The whisper slipped out of her lips as the realization that she hadn't dreamed that she had thrown the man who assaulted her... that she had _electrocuted him with Force lightning_.

“It is indeed.” The voice that spoke, male and unfamiliar, crackled across the intercom speaker in the cargo bay. “It’s nice to see you've finally awoken.”

Winter’s terrified white eyes darted around the room as she folded in on herself in an attempt to become a small as possible. She pulled the blanket tight around her again while she looked for where the voice’s owner could be watching her from. “Where am I? Are you taking me to prison?” Even as she asked the question she wasn't sure if that was a relief or if Imperial prison would be worse than slavery. Either way, she reasoned, her life was not her own.

Silence met her question and filled her with greater unease. Her blanket muffled the rattle of her chains as she shifted, the restraints keeping her from standing or moving more than a half meter in any direction. The voice spoke again, but this time from beyond the forcefield and distorted by a respirator.

“Would you prefer if I did?”

“Slave or prisoner—what's the difference? It's all the same.”

The man—the _Sith_ —stood with a relaxed pose. His arms and ankles crossed, he leaned a shoulder against the wall. The hood of his robe shaded his eyes which made his face completely obscured and unreadable. Even with that, Winter felt the weight of his attention. “The point is irrelevant as you're neither.”

He made the statement so matter-of-factly that she jerked in surprise. “I’m...not...” She looked down to her wrists as his words echoed in her mind, then back at him as she raised them in question. “Then why am I...?”

He waved a hand and the chains released their hold on her. They echoed in the bay as they hit the floor. “Merely a safety precaution, I assure you. You understand.” He pushed himself off the wall and began to pace slowly. “Yes, I bought you from your masters, but not to continue your life as a cantina girl. Do you remember what happened?”

Winter’s mouth went dry as the memory tumbled back. She could smell the man’s breath, the stench of brandy and body odor that permeated his clothes. She felt the cold wall on her back and his... “ _No!_ ” She reached out to push her assailant back, only he wasn't there. This time he was only in her mind, but the lightning that erupted from her hand was anything but imagined. It connected with the durasteel wall with a sharp clap that left her ears ringing and head swimming. Her hands trembled and her eyes remained fixed to the blackened scar on the wall. _That was Force lightning. But I’m just a slave. Slaves don't use the Force._

“Good. Let your fear and hate feed you. Remember that feeling. You'll need it on Korriban.”

His words sounded far away or as if they came to her from underwater, and the gravitas of his statement took longer than it should to sink in. “K-korriban?” she stammered as her mind tripped over the idea of going to the desert planet where the Sith—those at the very opposite social rung than she—go to train. She heard whispered stories of brutality and hidden murders in the Academy.

“Naturally,” the man replied. “We’re not letting one who can use the Force as powerfully as you waste your time as a slave. Should you survive your trials, I've no doubt you'll make a powerful Sith lord.” With the push of a button he lowered the forcefield, then tossed a bundle to Winter’s feet. “Get dressed. We have two weeks to teach you some basics so you won't die as soon as you step off the shuttle.”

Inside the cloth bag was a pair of leggings, a basic tunic, undergarments, socks, and shoes that weren't much more than slippers. Winter looked back up to the doorway, but the man was gone. She grimaced as she took off the dancer’s costume and tamped down the bile that threatened to rise as she saw the evidence of her assault dried on the scrap of fabric. _Never again_ , she vowed to herself as she pulled on the provided clothes. _Never again will I be a helpless victim._

Once she slipped on her shoes, she rose to her feet and stepped over the discarded outfit, leaving it and the life it represented behind her.


End file.
